Three months had passed since the first Depth Tide I experienced—a test of survival that scarred the settlement and forced me to confront the raw, untamed power within me. The wounds I'd carried from my earlier battles had finally healed, leaving only faint lines of memory across my skin. In their place, strength had grown. The mark of the forbidden sea was still etched deep into me, but I no longer felt like prey in this treacherous place.
I had adjusted.
The settlement was not the same as when I'd first arrived, and neither was I. Each day was filled with hunting, learning, and preparing for the inevitable Depth Tides that struck with little warning. I had adapted to their rhythm—violent, relentless, and cruel. Dren had become something close to a mentor, though he would never admit it. He guided me through hunts and shared the knowledge only a survivor could possess. His teachings, alongside my own growing instincts as an Ixorym, had transformed me into something dangerous.
The Hunts
The hunts were a brutal necessity. Not for sport or luxury, but for survival. The beasts of the Deep Trenches—the sea's darkest depths—were valuable, their carcasses used for food, tools, and barter. Some beasts, like the lesser needle eels, were hunted for their venom sacs, which could be used to craft rudimentary poisons. Others, like the armored crabs, provided protective shells to rebuild the settlement's defenses. Every hunt was a risk, and every kill was a triumph.
I had come to rely on my abilities during these hunts.
Aether Armament had become a staple, the glowing energy allowing me to sharpen my claws to cut through the toughest hides. Floral Wake—a technique I was slowly learning to master—let me leave faint, violet trails of energy that confused beasts, forcing them to attack shadows instead of me. Thunderous Claws, my most dangerous skill, sent bursts of power through my strikes, though I used it sparingly. The energy within me remained unstable; too much, and I risked losing control.
During one hunt, Dren and I faced off against a pack of silver-scale beasts—fast-moving predators that hunted in the shallows. Dren struck the first blow, his spear impaling one of the creatures clean through the neck. I followed his lead, my claws flashing with violet light as I cut through the beasts like a blade through water.
"Faster this time," Dren noted afterward, wiping blood from his weapon. "You're learning."
I didn't respond. I didn't need to. The blood and ichor staining my hands were proof enough.
The Depth Tides
The Depth Tides had come three more times since that first catastrophic wave. Each one carried its own horrors. The beasts seemed unending, their numbers growing with every Tide. Some were lesser creatures, easy enough to handle, but others—twisted leviathans and monstrous titans—could only be described as nightmares born from the ocean's darkest abyss.
I had learned to fight alongside the hunters, and they had come to respect me, though most remained wary. They saw the way I moved, the way my claws shimmered with unnatural light. I was not one of them, and I never would be.
The last Depth Tide had come at night. The beasts had emerged silently from the dark waters, their glowing eyes piercing through the mist. The settlement's alarms rang, and we scrambled to the barricades, weapons in hand.
I remember the moment I faced the tide's apex predator—a serpent-like monstrosity with shimmering scales and fangs like harpoons. It lunged at me, its movements unnaturally fast, but I was faster. My claws struck true, slicing through its hide as energy crackled through the air. The serpent's death cry echoed across the battlefield, but I barely heard it. My instincts had taken over, my mind focused only on the fight.
When it was over, the hunters stood in silence, staring at me as the serpent's body lay broken at my feet.
"Azrytharion!" someone had called, their voice tinged with awe. "What… are you?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The power within me was growing stronger, and I feared what that meant.
The Settlement
In the days following each Tide, the settlement rebuilt itself. The survivors salvaged what they could, mended what they couldn't, and prepared for the next attack. Life here was unforgiving, but it was simple in its brutality. There were no politics, no distractions—only survival. Yet even here, whispers of the outside world crept in.
Hunters who ventured farther out spoke of strange happenings across the seas—of gods moving, of islands vanishing, of beasts growing bolder. Though the gods had turned their gaze away from me, I could not shake the feeling that something larger was stirring.
Dren often shared stories around the evening fires, his voice carrying above the crackle of flames. He spoke of the mainland, a sprawling continent far beyond these cursed waters. A place where power could be gained, where kingdoms rose and fell, and where warriors carved their names into history.
"Someday," I said one night, breaking my silence, "I will leave this place."
Dren looked at me, his expression unreadable. "You think you'll survive the Deep?"
"I have to."
"Then you'd better grow stronger, Azrytharion," he said, his voice steady. "Stronger than you've ever been. Because no one who's marked leaves alive."
I nodded, the embers reflecting in my eyes. I knew he was right. The Deep, the Tides, the gods—everything was pushing me toward something greater. My survival was no accident, and I could feel it in my very core.
I wasn't just meant to endure. I was meant to conquer.
The Turning Point
As the third month neared its end, I stood atop the watchtower once more, gazing out at the restless sea. The waves whispered secrets I couldn't yet understand, their rhythmic crashing filling the silence.
I clenched my claws, feeling the faint hum of power beneath my skin.
Soon, it would be time.
Time to leave. Time to hunt something greater.